


A Single Man

by underwoodblood



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 1960s, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Character Death, Character Study, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Falling In Love, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mycroft Holmes-centric, Mycroft speaks French, Not Beta Read, Not Britpicked, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Mycroft Holmes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Stream of Consciousness, Suicidal Thoughts, of sort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24233812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underwoodblood/pseuds/underwoodblood
Summary: "I was never terribly fond of waking up. I was never one to jump out of bed and greet the day with a smile like Gregory was. I used to want to punch him sometimes in the morning he was so happy. I always used to tell him that only fools greet the day with a smile, that only fools could possibly escape the simple truth that now isnʼt simply now: itʼs a cold reminder. One day later than yesterday, one year later than last year and that sooner or later it will come.He used to laugh at me and then give me a kiss on the cheek."
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Original Male Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14





	1. Stillness Of The Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the film "A Single Man" by Tom Ford. You don't need to be familiar with it to enjoy the story, but I highly recommend watching it or at least listening to the soundtrack, it's one of my favourites! Some things there are so mycroft-ish I wouldn't dare to change them, so yes, I quote the film a lot here. Oh, and in my version Charley aka Anthea is gay because of course she is. I hope you'll like it!

Always the water. It always starts with that helpless feeling that I cannot breathe. It’s ridiculous and physically there is nothing wrong with me, but the feeling is there anyway. I’m underwater. It’s icy cold, paralyzing, making my muscles shrink. Always very realistically. I can almost feel the pain. I do feel the pain and I want to escape, but it’s pointless. I feel like I’m dying, I truly wish I was.

It’s not that simple and life is not that merciful to me. I don’t die. It’s worse.

I’m in the middle of some empty road in Perth. 

No, I know exactly what road it is. All I need to do is to get through the snow, to the crossroads. I do that every night because I have no other choice. I can’t decide about my dreams and well… even if I could I would still choose to see Him one more time. And again. And again. 

There is a car turned over on its roof by the road. I know that car. There is a stream of blood painting trails on the snow. There is silence.

Their cat, small Chartreux, lies inside the car on the broken window. 

Gregory lies by the car. Calm, still, dead. His forehead is covered with blood contrasting with the snow and his hair. His beautiful eyes are still dark, but they don’t spark anymore. They’re empty, lifeless. 

I miss Him. I want Him to take me wherever he is because I don’t care anymore. I don’t know how to make Him do that and somehow I always get to the same idea.

I kneel beside him. I don’t feel cold so I lie down face to face. I can see those eyes now but they don’t recognize me. I hardly recognize them, without the light sparkling there. 

He’s dead, but He’s still mine and I miss Him, so I kiss His cold lips hoping it would help. Hoping that maybe it would make me miss Him less.

I miss Him more. 

I cannot breathe. 

I’m dying. 

I miss Him more. I cannot breathe. I’m dying. 

I miss Him more. I cannot breathe. I’m dying. 

I miss Him more. I cannot breathe. I’m dying. 

I miss Him more. I cannot breathe. I’m dying. 

I miss Him more. I cannot breathe. I’m dying. 

I miss Him more. I cannot breathe. I’m dying. 

I miss Him more. I cannot breathe. I’m dying. 

I wake up. 

Waking up begins with saying _am_ and _now_.

I am at home, in my office. I don’t use our bed anymore. Not exactly because of the sentiment, but because I do not sleep. A few hours like today are a blessing even if I wake up with a huge fountain pen ink stain on my shirt.

For the past eight months waking up has actually hurt. The cold realization that I am still here slowly sets in. 

I remember my dream. I kissed my Gregory again. I am a fool to think it was anything close to _my_ real Gregory, but I need at least this survive the day. My worries will end very soon so I need to keep telling myself “just today”.

Just today means I need to do precisely everything I do every day. I soothe my pain with some medicines, I shower and shave precisely. I despise mess.

I was never terribly fond of waking up. I was never one to jump out of bed and greet the day with a smile like Gregory was. I used to want to punch him sometimes in the morning he was so happy. I always used to tell him that only fools greet the day with a smile, that only fools could possibly escape the simple truth that now isnʼt simply now: itʼs a cold reminder. One day later than yesterday, one year later than last year and that sooner or later it will come. 

He used to laugh at me and then give me a kiss on the cheek.

It takes time in the morning for me to become Mycroft, time to adjust to what is expected of Mycroft and how he is to behave. I have practiced it for decades now and I think I perfect in being me now. Keeping everything in order helps, so I stick to it. It’s calming to know I have everything under control. 

I already know what shirt, tie and suit to choose. My brogues are perfectly polished and my clothes perfectly ironed. I do not make a place for mistakes.

By the time I have dressed and put the final layer of polish on the now slightly stiff but quite perfect Mycroft I know fully what part Iʼm supposed to play. Gregory would laugh at me. He always did when I was getting ready to work. He couldn’t understand how I could simply switch my behaviour between what I was and what people wanted for me to be. 

I just need to get through the goddamn day.

Sometimes I do see Gregory apart from those times in my dreams. I say ‘see’ but I know very well it’s just my imagination projecting Him to prove how miserable I am. I do not intend to argue.

Not when I can see Him laying on the couch with two cats on his chest caressing them both.

Not when I see Him repairing the car outside all filthy with engine oil.

He enters the door grinning in a clear attempt to nag me.

He wants to touch me with his dirty hands and when I try to avoid it, He cries with laughter.

He doesn’t cry, He’s not there. 

I’m crying.

It doesn’t last long but my chest hurts. It’s a sharp pain and I need to lean on the wall to avoid falling, but it’s all fine. I’m fine. It’s gone.

The coffee is awful today, but I have already promised to survive this day so I can’t complain. I don’t eat breakfast. I barely eat these days, which makes me finally lose some weight. Gregory wouldn’t be happy for me saying that.

I make a bad decision deciding to drink my coffee on the balcony. Not that anyone would see me, but I was always worried someone could anyway.

Gregory tried to convince me no one could see us there from the beginning. He enjoyed the house very much, it made me happy just to see His smile. He was so delighted He grabbed me, standing on that exact balcony and tried to kiss me. It wasn’t wise and I told him so, but he could be convincing. I love that in him. Being able to make my heart race even in a mundane Tuesday afternoons.

I need to shake off all those memories if I want to survive this day, but it’s hard. I see Him everywhere, I feel his cologne even though nothing smells like him anymore. I kept the cologne, but I didn’t dare to open it. 

The phone starts to ring. Eight months and I still can’t answer it without thinking about Gregory. He was supposed to be on the other side that day. Asking about my day, explaining why He was late.

But I didn’t hear him. I haven’t since the morning He left, only for a week to visit His mother. And I won’t ever again. 

I waited for a call and when the phone rang I didn’t even think it would be someone else. 

“Finally. You know it has been raining here all day and Iʼve been trapped in this house waiting for you to call,” I said.

“Sorry. I must have the wrong number. Iʼm calling for Mr. Mycroft Holmes,” someone said, not Gregory.

“Iʼm sorry, I was expecting someone else. Yes sir, you have indeed called the correct number. How may I help you?”

“This is Sam Brown. Iʼm Gregʼs cousin.”

“Oh yes, of course. Good evening, Mr. Brown.”

“Iʼm afraid Iʼm calling with some bad news. Thereʼs been a car accident.”

I won’t be overdramatic to say that my heart stopped that very moment. I couldn’t hear Mr. Brown for a while. I only heard a pitching, deafening noise.

“Accident?”

“There has been a lot of snow here lately and the roads have been icy. On his way into town, Greg lost control of his car... It was instantaneous apparently.”

“I see.”

“It happened late yesterday, but his parents didn’t want to call you. In fact, they don’t know I’m calling you now, but I thought that you should know.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I know this must be quite a shock. It was for all of us.”

“Yes… Will there be a service?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“Well I suppose I should get off the phone and book a plane flight.”

“The service is just for the family.”

“Family. Of course. Well thank you for calling… Mr. Brown? What happened to the cats?”

“Cats? There was a cat with him but he died. Was there another one?”

“Yes. A small female”

“Well, I donʼt know to tell you the truth. I havenʼt heard anyone mention another cat.”

“Thank you for calling, Mr. Brown.”

I still remember that feeling. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t that I was sad or angry. I was numb, paralyzed. I refused to believe it. I thought He would come back, enter the door with that silly smile and kiss my cheek enthusiastically. I had to realize that wouldn’t happen. My eyes burned. I dropped my glasses on the floor. I was absolutely alone.

I went to see Anthea that night.

No, to be honest with myself I didn’t go. I ran to her in absolute terror. This wasn’t something I could have possibly bottled up. I remember that too. I don’t know how I managed to run through the whole neighborhood in an awful rain straight to her door, but I did. I just knew I couldn’t be alone that night. I would… I don’t know. My heart would have broken.

  
  


The phone keeps ringing. 

“Hello Anthea.”

“How did you know it was me?”

I don’t tell her that but she is one of not many people who still call me apart from work. Of course Sherlock calls too, sometimes, but I can’t make myself to answer those calls.

I do appreciate his concern, it seems he’s grown up and stopped pretending we are not siblings, but talking to him makes me feel bad. 

He wants to help, he pities me, I can hear that in his voice. He wants me to visit Baker Street but that would be just too much.

I visited him once right after… Gregory. He was stubborn enough not to leave me alone in that damned house of mine because he wanted to _help_ . Well, it didn’t help. I spent two days watching my dear brother, his beloved _friend_ , God, I despise that word, and his daughter living a happy, peaceful life.

Sherlock always gets away with everything. I shouldn’t blame him for this, but it was hard not to. I sat there on their couch, not being able even to say goodbye to Gregory, not being able to admit his love, and these two? Having a proper family, not even hiding too hard, not trying to pretend. As if all this doesn’t affect them at all.

“Anthea, no one else ever calls me before 8:00 in the morning.”

“I didnʼt call too early, did I? You sound grumpy.”

I don’t see her but I already know she’s sitting by her huge mirror putting another layer of eyeliner on her eye. Probably with some gin in hand already.

I promised to myself to get things done today, so I decide to visit at least her.

“No. I just have a headache. I was going to call you actually. Is it too late to change my mind about tonight?”

“Of course not! I havenʼt seen you all week.”

“I know. Iʼm sorry. So, great. Iʼll see you tonight. I need to run though. Iʼm late for work.”

Anthea doesn’t work with me anymore. She was the best assistant I could ever dream of. She was hardworking, punctual, professional. She is a good friend if we can call each other that.

Apart from our workaholism and dry sense of humour we have much more in common. That’s probably why we can stand each other so many years. We are both miserable, ruined by ambitions and dreams that could never come true. Mine about my future with Gregory, her about the future in general. 

I call my driver to tell him I won’t need him today. He deserves a free day and I need to feel I have at least a bit of control over my life. I get in the car.


	2. Mescaline, Daydreams, Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bad weather. Snow. Rain.”
> 
> “How can you live in England and be afraid of the rain?”
> 
> “Maybe you can’t.”

The ride to work is mundane. I avoid crowded streets while listening to the radio. Bad choice I must admit, I’m not even at work yet and I’m already forced to hear all those things about Krushchev and a nuclear war. 

I stop my car but I don’t leave it immediately. I know there is no rush so I take my time to collect myself. I close my eyes and breathe. 

Eventually I do enter the building. I try my best to be as nice as I can to every passing person, just this once. 

I tell Elizabeth her new glasses look pretty and I don’t lie, really. This is the fact I decided to notice and verbalize. Because today I’m trying.  
  


I get to my office bracing myself for any news Joan would have for me. Today. I’m. Trying.

“Morning, Mr. Holmes. Important letters on the desk, less important here. Some young intern asked for your address”

“My address? What for?”

“No idea, sir. He told me he’s one of Ms. Smallwood’s assistants.”

That’s unusual and I truly don’t know what to think about it. Even if it’ll end up being some overambitious idiot trying to get the work by playing up.

“Did you give it to him?”

“Well, I did, I wasn’t sure what to do and it seemed important. I’m sorry if…”

It’s not worth it to ruin her day over something so unimportant, “Don’t mention it. Thank you for sorting the mail. You are wonderful.”

“Okay… Thank you. Oh, and the meeting in half an hour, sir.”

I just sigh “Very well, I’ll prepare myself then. Oh, and please do cancel everything after the meeting.”

I don’t prepare myself. There is no point in that. I’m well prepared already, and apart from Elizabeth there is no one caring even a bit about what we talk about. The meeting is fortunately not about that bloody Krushchev, I wouldn’t stand thinking about him for another second.

The meeting is about the safety of our agents. There are procedures to discuss and so even if I could make those decisions on my own, I have to play my part and make them all think have something to say on the matter. 

I’m already tired when the meeting starts, I know there is no point in talking to anyone else than Elizabeth so even if I speak to everyone by that enormous meeting table, I know only she _understands_. Even if that’s the case I’m trying my best just as I have promised myself. Today is about trying. By the time we reach the crucial point I almost want to give up.

“We need to realize what causes those holes in our safety system? What makes us weak?” 

Before I can finish the question I see Mr. Hirsch already has an answer and a theory, most likely.

“That’s simple. Our people aren’t trustworthy.” He’s getting emotional, angry. “Double agents, bribing, they’re all full of shit.”

“Don’t you think it’s too idealistic to think that anyone here is trustworthy, Hirsch?”

“We all should be, there’s no place for secrets.”

“That’s not true and you should be careful what you say because everyone has secrets. Big or small, the ones you didn’t think about making such a bold statement.” I say trying not to raise from my chair and start pacing. “We are unable to control the agents more and we will not try to. They are people and where are people mistakes happen. Saying that they are to blame is wrong.” I tense as I see a young man noting, as it seems, my every word. I don’t know his name, but I have seen him before.

“If we have a mole…”

“We do, Mr. Hirsch, most certainly. And I assure you, interfering in our agents lives more will not prevent it nor help with the present situation.” Elizabeth keeps quiet, which means she agrees, at least that.

“We should observe some of them more, you’ve seen my report, Mr. Holmes.”

“Observe them observing others? That’s ridiculous. The current procedures are enough. What is it really about? Because it appears to me you have something in mind. Who exactly is that you don’t trust? Our female agents? Our black agents?” I don’t really give him any time to answer. “Your report was very clear and your fear is very transparent, Mr. Hirsch. Groundless fear of minorities. It’s dangerous and foolish. Makes you blind for factual issues.”

I see Elizabeth leaning back on a chair visibly pleased with my words, again, she understands. Always tremendously good at encoding me.

There is nothing more to say and everyone already knows what to focus on and even if the problem hasn’t been solved yet, I decide not to worry today. Elizabeth will know very well what to do.

Everyone leaves quickly, probably already thinking of lunch and again, I decide to not mind. 

I pack my briefcase when I notice I am not alone in the room.

“Sorry, Sir. I just wanted to say it was a very good thing to say the one about fear. Shut Hirsch up properly.”

It’s the man with the notebook. Standing hesitantly by the door. 

I have a second to take a look at him. Dark eyes, even darker, curly hair. Unironed shirt and the tie askew. 

“Mr…?”

“Ah, yes, sorry again. Alec Scudder, mostly taking notes here.”

“I could see that today.” 

“I’ll put those words in a frame.”

“Now this is ridiculous.”

“It’s not, Sir. Why don’t you always speak like that?!”

“Today I felt I didn’t have anything to lose.” 

“Well, you don’t. Everyone here obeys you anyway.”

He shrugs and says it with such certainty… reserved only for young people.

“And besides,” he continues even though I’m clearly ready to leave, “It’s something I think about too. A lot. People can be afraid of really weird things.”

“And I am afraid I have to be going, Mr. Scudder.”

He steps away to make a space for me to leave and then follows. 

“Right, I need to go downstairs anyway. Need to use a Xerox.” He’s quiet for a bit and then, “What are you afraid of, Sir?”

Strangely this talkative, enthusiastic, tanned like a football player man does not annoy me at all. He talks with me openly, perhaps too openly, opposite to the others here. He just seems as people call it, nice.

“Bad weather. Snow. Rain.”

“How can you live in England and be afraid of the rain?”

“Maybe you can’t.”

“Sometimes my fear of things can almost paralyze me. Itʼs like I get really panic stricken and I feel like I might explode or something... May I ask you a personal question, Sir?”

“If you must.”

“Do you ever get high?”

I stop and try very hard not to laugh. “How old do I look to you?”

“Have you ever taken any drugs, Sir?”

“Of course not, Mr. Scudder.”

“Just Alec, right? Like any drugs?”

“I shouldnʼt really be discussing this with you here, Alec.” I start walking again and of course he follows.

“Itʼs the only way I get by sometimes. Nothing at all?”

He’s impossible.

“I shaved off one of my eyebrows once while drunk. Not a good look for me. I looked in the mirror, big mistake apparently, and decided that my eyebrows were taking over my face and before I knew it, I had shaved one off. I wore a band-aid over my eye for about six weeks while my brow grew in. Very embarrassing. So as you can see, I can’t even drink safely.”

That’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. I didn’t shave it. God, help me. Gregory did. I wanted to murder Him, but we were both too drunk to move. He didn’t want to get rid of it completely, just to make it look better. It was silly. He took a razor and climbed on my lap to prevent me from running away. It was one of the happiest days of my life, I remember. I felt so good, I didn’t think of our problems, Sherlock’s problems, nothing. It was just me and Him and even if I ended up with one eyebrow it was worth it. 

“Maybe drinking is just not your thing, Sir. If you ever want to get high, I usually have some dope.”

“Youʼre really mad arenʼt you?”

“Sorry, Sir. I guess you donʼt feel very comfortable talking like this.”

“What makes you say that? “

“Everyone thinks youʼre kind of cagey. Like this morning, when you were listening to all that crap Hirsch was talking.”

“And I didnʼt notice you open your mouth once.”

“I was watching you.”

I don’t know where this is going and perhaps that’s why I look a bit surprised.

“You let us all ramble on and on and then you straighten us out - but you never really tell us everything you know about something.”

“Well, maybe thatʼs true up to a point. Itʼs not that I want to be _cagey_. I canʼt really discuss things completely openly at work. Someone would misunderstand... I tried to do that today. It doesnʼt work.”

I notice we have already gotten to the Xerox room. I must be more distracted than I thought. 

“You need something, Sir?” Alec says standing by the telecopier.

“Nothing. I was on my way to my office.”

“You mean you walked all the way down here just to talk to me?”

I did?

“Why not?”

“Well, I owe you now.”

“Just fix your tie and we’ll be even.”

He grins but touches it at once.

“See you around, Mr. Holmes.”

I leave startled by this unexpected event. Not entirely unwanted, but making me think about Gregory again. His laugh. His ridiculous ideas. He kept joking they should’ve fired him after that brow accident. It was not my favourite joke as we both knew Scotland Yard could have fired him for different things too.

God, I can’t stop thinking about this again. He was never angry about this, he never complained about how our… relationship could have cost him His career. He always only joked and didn’t allow me to worry, but now He’s gone and I can worry as much as I wish.

  
  


In my office, I clean every centimeter of space. Most of my quite useless things land in the rubbish bin. Old documents, tucked packs of cigarettes, an almost empty bottle of scotch. No, the last one stays. I find and take some aspirin and scotch seems perfect to kill the taste of it. Then I can throw out the bottle.

That makes me think of Anthea and as I promised to myself to be quite good today, I decide to call and check on her. 

Of course, she answers the phone very quickly. She seems glued or wired to it all the time. 

“Hello, I have been thinking how are you.”

There is a moment of silence.

“Good, just trying to finish up a book. Howʼs your day going?”

“Fine. I was just getting ready to leave and wanted to know if you needed anything for tonight?”

“That’s sweet, but thanks, I think Iʼm all set… Oh, could you pick up a bottle of Gin for me? Tangueray? I love the colour of the bottle.”

“You love whatʼs in it. What time do you want me?”

“7;00 would be great if that’s okay with you.”

“See you then.”

“Bye, old man.”

  
  


I have some other important things to do before seven, so I don’t wait any longer. I say goodbye to Joan and even pop up to see Elizabeth. No long conversations, just polite sendoff. After doing those duties I head straight to my car. Just waiting to be able to relax a little.

I enter the car and I finally feel alone. It’s a good feeling, soothing. I promised to try hard today, but it’s nice to have a break from it. It’s tempting to open my briefcase. I already know what is in there, but it would be even more soothing to look my fate in the eye, remind myself why today I need to be good. 

Just then I hear someone knocking on my car window. It’s Alec standing by his motorcycle. 

“Yes Mr. Scudder?”

“Are you going somewhere sir?” 

“That is usually why people get into their cars.”

“No, I mean are you going on vacation or something?”

“What?”

“I saw you cleaning out your office.”

_Oh, dear god._

“What is it that you really want, Alec?” 

“I was just hoping that perhaps we could get together for a drink or something sometime.”

“And why is that?”

“I donʼt know, Sir. Because I think you might like it. I mean, because you seem as though you could use a friend.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes Sir, you do.”

I look at him. I could see a lie on that face in one second. But I don’t see it. Nothing at all, which means his intentions are good, _he_ is good. That does not happen.

“Well, you might be right Alec, but weʼll have to make it another time. Iʼm late. Thank you for the invitation. And thank you for the talk earlier. Please, do stay away from the mescaline. Another time.”

I lie and leave.


	3. A Variation On Scotty Tails Madeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no wedding. Just Gregory’s sentimental soul...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello you!!! I'm surprised anyone even reads that story considering it's so angsty and strangely specific. But I still think there's no need to know the plot of the film to enjoy this fic. So thank you for giving it a chance. Lots of love!!!

I go to the bank. There are some things I need to collect from my safe deposit box, considering my future plans. Fortunately, I don’t meet any familiar faces on my way, so I thank nonexistent God for that. Of course, I know the lady behind the desk, Katia, a bank teller, but she’s alright. Never tries to small-talk me, which I find a blessing. She is very smart as well, which I have gotten to know after so many years of tedious visits here. If she were a man, she would definitely be a manager by now. I think I do have enough time to help with this matter. Everything while maintaining anonymity, naturally. 

But for now I just follow Katia to the safe deposit boxes room. As always, she gives me a document to sign. A confirmation that it is indeed me, Mycroft Holmes, opening my deposit box.

For the last time.

She exits the room leaving me and my briefcase to it. I collect my files, everything strictly classified, so I couldn’t possibly leave them to some dishonest bankers and whatnots. One’s privacy is never respected if there is no “One” anymore.

The box is not empty yet. I cannot pretend that I don’t notice a small gold ring in the corner of it anymore. I cannot pretend it’s not our wedding band. My wedding band to be precise. And what is the point of fooling myself? There was no wedding. Just Gregory’s sentimental soul convinced that we both should wear rings because we belonged to each other even if no one knew and no one could confirm it. And of course, I did belong to him, I still do. 

I cannot just drop the ring to the bottom of my briefcase, so I decide to wear it. I am not sure why I’m doing it. Perhaps my sentiment is the reason, perhaps the lack of it. Am I not mourning anymore? Am I mourning more now? 

I haven’t been wearing the band for only five months now. Firstly I refused to take it off believing it would be an act of betrayal. How foolish of me. When I realised what was happening to me, how awfully pathetic I had become I took it off. There was no betrayal because there was no Gregory. Nowhere apart from my mind.

The last thing I pick up from the box is a picture. It lays upside down, so I can only observe the whiteness of a polaroid film, but I already know what I am going to see. I can’t wait any longer so I just flip it as if I’m ripping off the bandaid.

It’s painful to see Him like this. Alive, but so distant, so far far away. It’s different to see Gregory in my mind. In my mind, I see not only his features as they were, but I see memories as well. When I think I see his hands making us dinner, I see every time he burnt himself too occupied by chatting with me. When I think I see him outside, I recall every time he had to chase our cats to get them inside. When I see Gregory I see every possible version of him at once. It’s more of a feeling than a visual picture. 

And this? This is clear, too clear, too vivid. He’s looking at me from that photograph. He’s laying on a beach, somewhere in Aberdeenshire. In Stonehaven to be precise. I remember exactly where I took it. 

It was a long time ago, at the beginning. We found a very well hidden spot at the beach. I remember it was an incredibly hot day, the day when only sunbathing made any sense. I felt quite safe. The place was really desolated, so I didn’t feel uncomfortable sitting there in my linen, informal shirt. Naturally, Gregory got rid of his clothes as soon as we managed to place down our beach towels. Very typical of Him. Always so comfortable in his beautiful body, unapologetic. That’s why he’s naked in the picture. Stunning, happy, and mine, I dare say. 

When we were laying down, drinking some awful,  indigenous beer, listening to the waves, he asked me about my friendship with Anthea. It flattered me that I could sense just the slightest note of jealousy in his tone. Even if it was a ridiculous concept. 

“What would you like to know?” I asked him to test the waters. “We work together. I assume I can call her my friend.” 

“You don’t have many friends and she seems to know everything ‘bout you.” He looked at me with those impossibly dark eyes, absolutely serious, “You’ve never slept with her, have you?” 

I couldn’t help but smirk. How absurd it was.

“Gregory, please. Your imagination alarms me. Naturally, she knows many things about me, she’s a professional. I assure you I have not slept with her.”

“Right, sorry. I guess it’s just how it works in  _ my _ mind, not yours. I mean… women, men. Not a big deal.”

“Well. You are awfully modern arenʼt you? That was the first thing that I noticed about you was how sure of yourself you were. But is it always a ‘no big deal’ for you?” 

It was so silly of me to ask, but I was so unsure of everything happening with us.

“Not like that, My. I just mean I fall in love with women, I fall in love with men.” He smiled at me. “You, for example.”

I didn’t know what to say and I do hate not knowing so I just firmly assured him “I don’t fall in love with women.”

“At all.” It wasn’t a question, it was a confirmation he understood.

“At all.” 

  
  


I shake off the memories. I cannot let myself dwell on them. The disadvantage of having a mind quite like mine is that I would dwell. I am able to do nothing but play the same memories over and over again like a broken record. It’s my self-discipline that stops me, but it is wearing thin just as do I. I hide the picture between the documents and leave the room.

Katia asks me if I need anything else and God damn it, I do, but I cannot find my chequebook and I cannot summon any patience for myself. I’m irritated. I’m getting old. I find the nearest chair and sit down to find the bloody thing.

That’s precisely what being too sentimental does to me. I cannot function properly,

I want to curse quietly, with my briefcase between my legs, searching for the chequebook, when two tiny yellow shoes stop me from a rather unmannered “Bollocks!”

I raise my eyes well aware of who is standing just in front of me. 

Rosamund is staring at me and although she has her father's eyes, they are definitely more forgiving while looking at me. 

“Papa says you look worn-out but I think you look nice.”

_ Papa.  _ My brother clearly has not heard of any social norms.

It should not surprise me. They do raise dear Rosie in quite progressive standards. Even Doctor Watson lets her run around and behave like a boy. Hence the bruise on her left knee. She reminds me of Sherlock very much. The same head full of curls, just the blond ones.

“That’s very kind. I think you look nice as well.”

I am not fond of children. I have never been. They demand attention and affection. They are responsibility, as if I didn’t have enough of those. Besides, children don’t like me. I am not fun, I am rather unable to entertain anyone, adult or not. Rosamund seems to not understand it. I thought, before the accident, that she simply liked Gregory. My God, who didn’t? They always play together. He used to make funny faces and she laughed as if it was the funniest thing on Earth. Well, sometimes I did too. 

The thing is, Rosamund still wants to visit me. I, from all people, can sense falseness, but there is no falseness. She brings her books from time to time and we read. She asks about Gregory and nods her little head when I explain it to her as diplomatically as I can.   
I cannot stand people anymore, but somehow, her company is always nice.

“Are you still sad? When I’m sad papa lets me make experiments with him. I told him I could make experiments with you too, but he said you don’t like mess and that you’d throw me out before I could blow out your kitchen.”

“He said that? Of course, I wouldn’t do that, my dear. I would definitely wait until you do blow out my kitchen.” I smile at her.

Fortunately, before she would manage to repeat to me anything else that ‘papa said’, Doctor Watson appears next to her.

“Mycroft, good to see you.” I doubt if that is true, but then I remember I promised myself to try today. So I believe him. “Hope she’s not bothering you.”

“No, of course not.” I take my time to, probably the first time in my life, look properly at the two of them. Of course, I have deduced many things from Doctor Watson before, it can be helpful when I’m worried about my brother, but this is another thing. Now I look and I see the resemblance, I notice how they even have the same posture, I notice, I am sure of the fact that they are happy.

“Look, I know it’s pretty out of character, but weʼre having a few people over tonight and I actually think you could come.”

It’s surprising. I could consider it. Today I really think I could.”

“Thank you, Doctor Watson, it’s very kind of you but Iʼm afraid that I have plans tonight.” 

“Alright. Well, another time then. Come on Rosebud. Let uncle get back to his banking. Bye, Mycroft.”

They leave and I already think of how many things I have to do today. Even thinking about it tires me. It’s not work. God, no. Work tires me in a good way, it makes me feel useful. Today I need to visit some shops, talk to people, be nice, and I really try to find patience for all that.

I stop by the shooting supplies store. It’s a quick task, fortunately. Not worth mentioning. Again, no one tries to small talk, so being nice is not very hard. Then I need to buy gin for Anthea. I choose a small shop, probably an empty one. Crowds are definitely not my thing, even today. There’s an enormous blue film poster outside the building. It’s for Psycho. I know that even though I’m hardly interested in popular culture. Gregory always hated it because he had to watch silent films with me. He hated silent films because they were too “slow” for him. We managed watching one silent Hitchcock film and then a sound one. I don’t watch them anymore.

I decide to keep ignoring Hitchcock as I enter the shop. Anthea shouldn’t drink that much… but so shouldn’t I. It doesn’t matter. Not like we could just stop. That’s the privilege of happy people. I take two bottles, just in case.

I am not sure what caused my distraction, probably worries about Anthea. Christ, it is so strange to worry about her. It was always her worrying about everything. Taking care of everything before I could. Perhaps that’s why she ended up like this. Alone, in an exquisite but empty house, with some Benzodiazepines on her bedside table. I know I cannot blame myself, but it’s hard not to. The work was partly the reason why she’s alone now, and I was partly the work.

For some reason, I don’t notice a man trying to enter the shop as I am trying to exit. He drops his cigarettes. I drop gin. It’s an awful mess.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He says as I look at the ground.

“It was my fault. I will get you another pack.” I say as it’s the only proper response and it really was my fault. 

I look up and I see a pair of beautiful, chocolate-dark eyes.

Looking straight into mine.


End file.
